


Transport

by Consulting Carnation (reluctant_necromancer215)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Body Positivity, Brief mention of drugs, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fem!John - Freeform, Fem!Sherlock, Femlock, Femslash, Genderbend, Genderbending, Joan Watson - Freeform, Joan is bisexual and Sherlock is a lesbian, Lesbian, Mention of sex, Oral Sex, femlock AU, mention of body hair, mentions of vaginas, two queer ladies lovin each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-26 23:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9930545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reluctant_necromancer215/pseuds/Consulting%20Carnation
Summary: Fem!lock ficlet. Sherlock and Joan are in love. They love each other and they love each others' bodies. Small bit of prose about their love, physical and emotional. No plot, just fluffy smutty gayness.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know I should update my other fics before adding a completely new one, but here we are. Disclaimer: this is a body positive depiction of two queer ladies in love. Discussions of sex, oral sex, body hair, and vaginas. If this isn't your cup of tea, DO NOT READ. Simple as that. Just two ladies in love <3

Sherlock loves Joan’s body. She loves every soft curve, every tan line and scar. She loves the laugh lines around her eyes and the little black smudges where her mascara missed her eyelash. She loves that little hidden freckle on her hip, and the stretch marks on her thighs. She loves the sharp little tickles of legs that haven’t been shaved since the weekend moving against her skin. She loves her round hips and soft belly, and those sweet lines where her hip met her thigh. She loves the angry red marks from the buttons of jeans that Joan probably should have stopped wearing six pounds ago. She loves the carefully manicured blonde hair between her legs, and the dark, wide labia hiding inside. She loves the way the tight velvet heat of Joan's body wraps around her fingers and the gasps that spill from her lips. She loves her heavy breasts and her dark nipples and the way she cradles them in one arm when she takes off her bra at the end of the day. She loves her strong arms, biceps and triceps that would probably still be perfectly capable of doing military-grade pushups if it weren't for her shoulder. And she loves her shoulder. That lovely little starburst scar blooming on puckered skin. And she'll never admit it but each kiss to that mark is a silent thank you, gratitude for bringing this amazing woman home to London. Home to Sherlock. 

And Joan… Joan loves Sherlock's body. Every tense, sinewed expanse of pale skin. She loves her broad shoulders and long neck, and she loves the marks her kisses leave on her lily-white skin. She loves how easily she bruises, how easily she blushes, how she can read her skin like a map of her emotions. She loves the wicked curl in the corner of Sherlock’s lips and her dark eyebrows and her stubborn refusal to shave anything. She loves wild hair shoved into a makeshift bun in the mornings. She loves her small breasts, her nipples visible through her thin pajama shirt. She loves her long arms and musicians hands, long slender fingers that know exactly how to play her. She loves her narrow, boyish hips and her impossibly narrow waist. She loves the wild thatch of dark curls nestled below sharp hipbones and between lean dancers legs. She loves the hidden gem in that nest, the way to turn Sherlock’s voice from that deep sultry alto to a high-pitched cry of /need/. She loves the way Sherlock smelled and tasted and burst against her tongue, and the way that long leg hooked over her good shoulder. 

And that moment is magic, when Sherlock’s body is pressed against Joan’s. When pale skin is pressed against golden tan and stretch marks kiss track marks, when gasps and cries and tender “I love you”s are whispered against lips and skin and between legs. And sometimes Joan laughs at her luck, at the fact that she can have this. And sometimes Sherlock cries that she lived through enough to end up in these arms. Sometimes they both laugh. Sometimes they both cry. Sometimes both, sometimes all in the space of a few seconds. And every time they wake up together, it feels like the first time.


End file.
